


Persist

by Dulcinea



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-18
Updated: 2012-04-18
Packaged: 2017-11-03 21:01:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulcinea/pseuds/Dulcinea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jericho's obsession.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Persist

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Lovage's "Anger Management" and RAW on 4/16.

He imagined it too much during the day, more so than he should’ve at night. The dream of all wet dreams—Punk’s nightmare probably, and that was the kicker. That was the best part. Because he’d make Punk want it. He’d turn it from Punk’s nightmare to Punk’s greatest fantasy that he never knew. Because _he_ was the best in the world—at everything. Not Punk.

Jericho whipped out his cell phone.

His eyes followed Punk’s form down the hall.

It’d be so easy. Pin him to the floor, drag him to some maintenance room to cuff him there, gag the man and then…

He trailed behind Punk, a good distance away to keep him hiding, but close enough to watch him.

The pub wasn’t far from the hotel. He overheard Punk much earlier in the day talk with some wrestler in some promotion about fish and chips. Perfect ammunition. Perfect timing too. Soon, Punk would give in. He saw the vulnerability for the last few weeks—the weakness he craved. It fed his dreams: Punk, struggling beneath him, in rope, in cuffs, naked, cuts and scratches and bruises littering his torso down to his spread thighs, begging beneath the gag, begging with his eyes.

Jericho flipped his cell closed, once Punk entered inside.

Through the window he watched Punk shake hands with a few friends. They sat, ate, chatted, and after an hour, Punk stood up to leave.

In the shadows of his hiding place, Jericho’s hands went to his zipper.

He could go in. Maybe wait in the bathroom. Get him as he came out. Punk wouldn’t expect it. Punk would be surprised, defenseless. How could he suspect it? He was having a good time with friends. Punk’s guard was gone, for now. And that was the opening he needed.

Jericho sucked in his bottom lip, stroking his dick.

One good hold to his arms, one wrong spot to a pressure point, and Punk would be done. Punk would be his. Struggling, wriggling, chest down, face scraping the floor, _please Chris, let me go, please_ , with his whimpers, cries, _fuck_ , grimacing, moaning, _oh fuck_ , and he’d sink his fingers into his ass, fuck him that way, make Punk beg, _beg for me_ , and when he did, when Punk finally gave in and begged him _please Chris, please fuck me_ , he’d take that ass to his dick and—

He came too quick, shooting over his hand.

When he cleaned himself up, Punk was leaving the pub.

Jericho opened his cell quick enough to catch him.

Once he couldn’t see Punk anymore, he turned his cell off, and then finished cleaning himself up, putting his cock back in his pants.

 _Soon._ He followed Punk back to the hotel. _Soon, you’ll be mine._


End file.
